For Kabir, the engagement meeting had been a negotiation on two levels — the public script of dates and dowries, and the private performance of watching Sia’s eyes flicker like a flame behind a glass wall.
He had known Sia since they were children — fleeting interactions polite greetings, the polite indifference that had once existed between two worlds that had no reason to collide. But now, with each passing day, he was learning the layers she kept folded beneath the red silks and the careful poise.
Red.
Why always red?
He had noticed it, of course — how every time she stepped into the public eye of this engagement, she wore red. A deep, burning shade that spoke of tradition, yes — but also of something else. A color that declared its presence, refused to be overlooked. A color that could be as fierce as it was fragile.
Today, in the hush of the Malhotra mansion’s corridors, he watched her move in that same red saree. How it clung to her like a shield, a kind of armor against the polite betrayals of the world. In the soft lamplight, it shimmered like blood and roses, and he wondered if she chose it as a way to remind everyone that she was not to be dismissed.
He saw the way she carried herself — spine straight, shoulders set, a kind of quiet defiance in every step she took. She was a woman of few words, but even her silence spoke volumes to him. In the midst of fathers shaking hands and mothers fussing over the right hour to get engaged, Kabir watched Sia and saw a quiet rebellion wrapped in crimson silk.
He didn’t want this to be another transaction, another line in a ledger. He didn’t want her to feel like a pawn in the game of alliances and legacy. And yet, he knew the weight of his own family’s expectations — the way his father spoke of mergers and alliances as if hearts and futures were numbers on a balance sheet.
He wondered what Sia thought as she sat there, fingers folded in her lap, her eyes flicking to him now and then like a silent challenge. He wondered if she chose red because it was the only color that felt honest in this house of hushed deals — a color that didn’t flinch, didn’t hide, didn’t apologize.
And he wondered if, behind that red, she was just as afraid as he was.
He remembered the moment he asked her to walk with him — how her eyes had met his with a spark that was almost a dare. How she had said, “See me beyond the red sarees and the polite smiles.” And he had heard in those words a promise that went deeper than any engagement contract: the promise that if he wanted her trust, he would have to fight for it.
He would have to prove that he saw her — the girl beneath the red, the woman who refused to be anyone’s prize.
As the meeting ended and their families exchanged final pleasantries, Kabir stayed a moment longer, watching Sia from across the marble hall. She turned to leave, the red saree trailing behind her like a banner of dignity. And in that instant, he made a silent vow.
He would honor that red — not as a symbol of tradition, but as the mark of her quiet courage. He would find a way to stand beside her, to show her that in a world of deals and deceit, he would be the one place where her truths could be safe.
He would not let this marriage be a cage. And he would not let her beauty in red be the only thing the world saw. Because he saw more — and he would not stop until she believed it too.
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